


Coffee and Innuendo

by sanguisuga



Series: Aberrant Fragments [3]
Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Coffee Shops, Doubt, Guilt, Johncroft, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 11:56:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3935902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguisuga/pseuds/sanguisuga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt from "Sherlock Rare Pair Bingo".</p><p>The prompt was "coffee shop", and I've chosen John & Mycroft as my pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and Innuendo

**Author's Note:**

> Perhaps not my best work, as I feel it rambles on a bit, but I got the general gist, I think! Another square crossed off my bingo card! 
> 
> Not beta'ed or brit-picked, since it's just for fun.

Mycroft rubbed wearily at his eyes as he settled back against the plush leather seat of the car. He had been at the offices until one this very morning, but the sensitive nature of the current mission required that he return only a few hours later. Now, with little more than four hours of sleep under his belt, he was contemplating something very unusual indeed. He silently cursed the steady creep of time, of his own diminished capacity. Gone were the days wherein he could operate on little more than a catnap between harried phone calls, his mind as crystal clear as ever. No, now he found that he required a certain chemical boost from time to time, the much-dreaded but occasionally necessary jolt of caffeine.

George met his eyes in the rearview mirror, a tiny smirk playing on the corner of his lips. His long association with his employer and innate knowledge of his habits served him very well at times, although it irked Mycroft to no end that someone understood him to such an intimate degree. “I know just the place, sir. Opened up just a few weeks ago, so it’s still nice and quiet and homey. The gentleman that runs it is familiar with me, and most likely won’t hesitate to open the door for us, even if it is a bit early for his day to start.”

Mycroft sighed and let his head fall back against the seat. “Thank you, George. You haven’t steered me wrong with any of your recommendations thus far, so I’m sure it will be delightful. Even if it is - coffee.” He shuddered slightly at the last word, swallowing his own laughter as George let his out. Mycroft did not allow his eyes to slide close, intently watching the silent city pavements as they ghosted by.

In seemingly no time at all, George took full advantage of the scarcity of traffic, parking quite illegally at the kerb by a small shopfront. The lights were on, although it was obvious that the establishment wasn’t open for its usual business just yet, as Mycroft could clearly see the chairs still sitting on top of the small tables, legs in the air. From what he could see, it looked very inviting indeed. Embellished with warm tones and a great deal of wood trim, it put him in mind of a small cottage in the countryside that he had rented one hopeful autumn a few years back. Of course, what he had hoped for had not come true, and he often berated himself for even believing that it could. After that unfortunate incident, he had done what he could to wipe such silly dreams out of his head.

Mycroft shook himself out of his introspective fugue with a small snort of derision. Oh, he was rather fatigued, wasn’t he? It was only during these rare occasions that his brain would even go down that path, reminding him of one of the very few times that he had failed at anything in his life. He cleared his throat as George prepared to exit the car, holding up a hand to halt his progress.

“Allow me. Would you like anything?”

George blinked at him slowly in the rearview mirror. “Um, yes sir. If it’s not too much trouble... The proprietor will know what I want.”

Mycroft inclined his head and slipped out of the back, tapping his umbrella on the pavement as he strode to the door. It opened before he got there, and the rather smallish man that was holding it open looked up at him in surprise.

“Oh! Hullo there.” His slate-blue eyes glanced over his form perfunctorily before darting toward the street and the automobile idling at the kerb. “Definitely not George, although that is the car he’s usually driving. You must be the mysterious employer, then.”

Mycroft took a few steps in and turned his most impassive face on the man, tilting his head ever-so-slightly. “He speaks of me?”

The apparent owner of the shop let the door close behind them, clasping his hands behind his back and rocking up on his toes slightly. His lips were turned up just a bit, and his eyes were twinkling most unbecomingly for such an early hour of the day. “Oh, only in the vaguest terms, of course. ‘You know, I do believe my employer would enjoy it here, even if he does hate coffee.’ That sort of thing.” He cocked his head and clicked his heels together, subconsciously betraying his background as a former military man to Mycroft’s keen eye. “It’s only ever ‘my employer this’ and ‘my employer that’. He hasn’t spilled any of your secrets, if that’s what you’re concerned about. I couldn’t even get anything like a name out of him. I’m rather pleased to see that you’re just as mysterious as I imagined - especially with that lovely accessory of yours. Very John Steed and all.”

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” The smaller man blinked up at him, nonplussed. Mycroft hooked the handle of his umbrella over his arm and folded his hands in front of him as he smiled his most sincerely sharky smile.

“Did George tell you about me?”

“I had not even heard of this establishment before twenty minutes ago, Mr...”

“Watson. John Watson.” A sudden cunning gleam lit up his face as he gestured toward the counter. “Perhaps I can get something started for you while you explain? Although I’m beginning to suspect that I may have heard of you from a source other than your poor beleaguered driver.”

Mycroft stiffened as John gestured once again, actually reaching out to place his hand on the small of his back to steer him. He went as directed, reeling slightly from the novelty of encountering someone bold enough to even try such a thing. “I hardly think we travel in the same circles, Mr. Watson.”

“John, please. And I’m quite sure we don’t. Your brother, however...”

Mycroft sighed heavily, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “I will of course be more than happy to pay any damages that he may have wrought.”

John stared at him blankly for a moment before bursting out into hearty giggles, quite confounding the man standing across from him. Mycroft felt his face flush and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “No, no, I haven’t had the good or, er - _mis_ fortune to run across him myself. But another of my customers talks about him rather often, and also mentioned a certain dapper but rather frightening-looking red-haired gentleman that stops by his crime scenes to check on his brother from time to time.”

Mycroft subconsciously smoothed his hands down the front of his jacket, dropping his eyes to the countertop. “Gregory... I mean - Detective Inspector Lestrade also frequents your establishment?”

“Nearly every day.” John took a step back and eyed him up and down with unbecoming forthrightness. “He is terribly good-looking, isn’t he? I tried chatting him up once or twice, but he barely even noticed, much to my severely wounded pride. It seems that his heart is already taken.” He hesitated very briefly, tilting his head and taking in a quick breath. “He’s very fond of your brother, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft started and looked up quickly, meeting John’s interested gaze. “I am well aware of the depth of Gregory’s regard toward Sherlock. It’s rather unfortunate that my brother isn’t entirely capable of returning said regard. Runs in the family, I’m afraid.”

John frowned deeply and immediately reached out, trailing just the tips of his fingers over the back of Mycroft’s hand. The hairs at the nape of his neck instantly stood to attention, the delicious frisson of flesh to flesh an absolute shock to his system. Beyond strictly professional handshakes, no-one ever dared to touch the Iceman, especially to offer something as paltry as comfort.

With a little coquettish glance from under his lashes, John’s frown faded into a soft smile. “Well, Mr. Holmes, I think that you may be underestimating yourself. You and your brother both.” He turned away and took up a carafe and a paper cup, pouring out George’s coffee. “Usually, the kind of people that lock their hearts away only do it because they’re afraid of them getting broken.” Once again, his keen blue eyes were staring into his, leaving Mycroft feeling a bit breathless. “Or... Or they’ve been broken already, and they’re still trying to put the pieces back together.” He braced his hands on the counter and leant into Mycroft’s space just a bit. “You know, puzzles like that are often more easily solved with two heads in the game.”

Mycroft took in a deep breath, doing his damnedest to ignore the sensation of a tiny sun suddenly bursting in his chest. “The way you hold yourself, the neatness of your hair. You have distinct tan lines, but they stop at the neckline and wrist. You clearly wore a uniform on a regular basis, out in the hot desert sun. Your shop is almost painfully tidy, in fact, I think the only other person that might beat you for tidiness would be myself. Earlier, you fell into parade rest without even realising it, but your left shoulder seemed to catch somehow. Your entire being practically screams military, proud of it and rightly so, but that shoulder… You were obviously wounded badly and invalided out, and although I know of many conflicts around the world, the only actions sanctioned by the British government during recent times would either be Afghanistan or Iraq. So which was it?”

John blinked at him slowly, his hands still braced on the counter between them. “Mr. Holmes...” Mycroft steeled himself for the inevitable backlash, almost regretting the way he had thrown his words at the man. “That was - amazing.” Rather than darkening his expression as Mycroft had expected, the man’s face seemed to light up from within. “Quite remarkable. I thought that was your brother’s party trick, however. Or at least, that’s how Greg described it to me.”

Mycroft sniffed. “Sherlock is my _younger_ brother, Mr...” He blanched slightly at the look that the man gave him, something stern and wicked all at once. “Ah - John, yes. Please do excuse me.”

“I see. So you taught him everything he knows.”

“Naturally.” He arched an eyebrow and waited, all too conscious of the way John had deflected the same question twice.

He sighed quietly, subconsciously balling his left hand up into a fist. “Afghanistan. Got shot in the shoulder while looking after one of my wounded men. Came down with an infection and very nearly didn’t make it out of the desert at all. And well...” John lifted his arm slightly, and Mycroft felt his heart sink a little at the visible tremor. “PTSD, too.”

Mycroft dropped his eyes and his chin, staring down at his own hands blankly. “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t allow doubt to creep into the life-or-death decisions that he made nearly every day, but it was almost impossible to ignore the effect that those same decisions had on his fellow man. Especially when he happened across a situation such as this one, a seemingly innocuous trip for a hit of caffeine that had unexpectedly turned into something so much more fraught with possibility.

“Hey.” John reached out - with his right hand, Mycroft was quick to notice - and lifted his chin with gentle fingers. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for. It is what it is.”

Mycroft bit his lip, subconsciously leaning into his touch. How much could he dare to reveal? Would it put a halt to the extremely interesting path that this seemed to be taking? Did he even want to go down that path, or perhaps cut this off before it became all the more tempting? He couldn’t readily forget his longstanding resolution to suppress his own hopes and desires for the benefit of his work, for the benefit of perhaps keeping him grounded in stark reality. And the reality was that this - whatever it was, whatever it might be - was quite beyond his reach. So he opened his mouth to speak, but that was when he saw the light of knowledge glowing in John’s eyes, so he withdrew, taking a tiny step away from the counter and away from that horribly beguiling touch.

“I may only be a minor official, but I cannot deny that I had a hand in the tragedy that befell you. I cannot excuse my decisions beyond knowing that they were the right ones to make at the time, nor can I excuse the actions that I took and the consequences of which you will have to bear for the rest of your life.”

“Stop.” Mycroft looked up in surprise, meeting eyes that had gone a bit hard, the effect mitigated by the soft smile gracing John’s lips. “First of all, you did what you had to do, as did I. I signed on for the Army knowing full well what I was getting myself into. I rode out on that convoy as I had done numerous times before, knowing that I was quite literally taking my own life into my hands. I went out into the field to check on my man even though we were taking on fire and he was out in the open. You did not force me to do any of those things, Mr. Holmes. You were not the one hidden behind a rock up on a hill taking potshots, you were not the one that started the whole bloody mess to begin with. Right?” He narrowed his eyes slightly, making Mycroft smirk even as he shook his head. “If we’re going to get to know one another a bit better, and I sincerely hope that we do, then the one thing you should know above all is that I take responsibility for my own actions. Do not blame yourself for what happened to me, or to the countless numbers of men who took up arms in defence of their country because it was what they felt was right. It’s what I wanted to do, and you’re correct in that I was and am damn proud of it.” Mycroft blinked as John took in a solid breath. “Second of all, minor official my arse. It’s clear that you are an extremely powerful man, Mr. Holmes.”

“Mycroft.” John’s eyes widened as he rocked forward slightly. “Please, John. Call me Mycroft.”

“Oh my God. You’re M, aren’t you? The bloody double-o head of MI-5 or something, oh good Lord.”

Mycroft startled himself by breaking out into hearty giggles, once more leaning up against the counter and into John’s personal space. “Most assuredly, I am not. Although the name is a terribly convenient coincidence, isn’t it?” His unexpected bout of laughter had eased something in Mycroft’s spine, and he allowed himself a smug grin.

“Oh God, and here I am just blathering on with no regard for your time at all. You have places to be and people to harangue, don’t you?” John stepped back and looked him over critically. “Cappuccino? A double, perhaps?”

“Triple, if you please.”

John frowned mightily as he started to fiddle with the levers on his machine and pints of cream. Real cream, Mycroft was pleased to note, not bloody skim milk. “That bad, huh? In that case, you’ll have to take something to nibble on as well. I don’t want that heart of yours bursting out of your chest before I have a chance to charm it out of you myself.”

Mycroft actually felt his knees wobble slightly at the implication, his head swimming with astonishment at the thought that he didn’t mind so much. It had been so long since anyone had even hinted at an interest in him as a person, and not simply as a vital piece on a vast chessboard. John grinned at him wickedly, his eyes glinting dangerously, and this time Mycroft had to plant his hands on the counter to keep himself upright. He let his head dip slightly as John pushed a cup in his direction, inhaling the heady aroma. He had always loved the smell of coffee, it was the taste that had always been distinctly lacking in appeal. Soon enough a lid was put over it, and George’s simple drip was placed nearby before John ducked behind the case and started rummaging inside.

More as an attempt to keep his hands occupied for fear of what they might do if John were to approach him unguarded, Mycroft grabbed hold of each cup and stood there awkwardly. It had been a wise precaution, as the smaller man did come back around the counter, holding two wax paper envelopes in his hand. Sauntering up to him, the little nuisance actually winked lasciviously before holding one of the treats up to Mycroft’s nose. He inhaled the deep, rich scent of chocolate, his eyes fluttering as his mouth started to water. The other was a much brighter aroma, something sweet and sultry, nutty and ever-so-slightly tangy.

 _“Mmohh...”_ Mycroft bit his lip as the unseemly moan slipped out of his mouth, quite against his will. “White chocolate macadamia?”

John was eyeing his mouth with sharp eyes, his tongue briefly peeking out to run over his own lips. “Oh yes. With cranberries to cut down the sweetness a bit.”

“You are going to be very bad for my waistline, John Watson.”

“I rather like the sound of that. And don’t you worry about that at all. We’ll set up a very strenuous exercise routine to counteract all of the delicious treats that I will personally feed to you by hand, one sweet morsel at a time.” He stepped in close as he slid one packet into each pocket of Mycroft’s suit jacket, utterly ruining the neat lines. Not that Mycroft noticed, as he had been struck quite dumb by John’s oh-so-casual and yet utterly delightful innuendo.     

_“Nghk.”_

John’s bright laughter filled the small space. “And you’re usually so articulate. You’re going to be bad for my ego, I think.” He reached up to tweak Mycroft’s tie, to pinch his chin in thumb and forefinger, making the taller man look down into his eyes quite intently. “You’re clearly the most intelligent man in this room, but I have a feeling that you tend to use words to disguise how you’re feeling, to trip people up. I find that leads to a disappointing number of misunderstandings. So I am going to be very blunt and direct here, and I would appreciate the same from you. I don’t want there to be any doubts between us.”

Mycroft nodded shallowly, but took in a soft breath as John tilted his head and narrowed his eyes sternly. “Understood, John.”

“Oh. Oh, but that is terribly promising.” He took a moment to collect himself, clearly affected by Mycroft’s obedient tone. “I am attracted to you. I am intrigued by you. I would very much like to get to know you better. Would you agree?”

“Completely.”

“Mm. Good. So you’ll be taking me out to dinner this week, correct? Perhaps you can look at it as recompense for single-handedly shattering my shoulder and giving me crap dreams.”

“I’d rather look at it as a date, John.” Mycroft felt his cheeks beginning to burn, but there was a slow wave of colour rising on John’s face as well, so he didn’t allow it to embarrass him in the least.

“Wonderful. And since I’m being bold here, perhaps after that date I will be able to do what I’ve been thinking about doing since just after you walked in that door.”

Mycroft blinked rapidly. “And what would that be, dare I ask?”

“Climb this amazingly long body of yours like a fucking tree and snog the holy hell right out of you.”

“Oh, John. Why on earth would we wait until _after_ the date to do that?”

John laughed again at Mycroft’s wicked grin, smoothing his hands down the lapels of his jacket. “Very well said. But for now, I imagine that you need to run off and save the world, or maybe wreck it, whatever you happen to have on the agenda for today.”

“I’ll phone you if I mistakenly set off any skirmishes nearby. It does tend to play hell with traffic.”

John stared at him blankly before smothering a hearty guffaw with the back of his hand. “Oh, my number...” Mycroft tilted his head and gave him a look, and the smaller man nodded resignedly. “Right, right. Well, on your way, then.”

Mycroft turned toward the door and took a very small step forward, extremely reluctant to leave. “Perhaps I will stop by on my way home.”

John once again put his hand on the small of Mycroft’s back, steering him unerringly along his path. “That would be lovely. We could chat some more, and if we happen to get ourselves alone behind locked doors, maybe I’ll take you into the back and we’ll get up to something terribly indecent.” Mycroft let out a sound of pure anguish, but John just chuckled at him. “Yes, I am a horrible person, but you’ll love every second, I promise.”

He held the door open and gave Mycroft’s backside a little smack before shoving him out onto the pavement, decisively closing the door behind him and turning back to his task of getting his shop settled for the true business to begin. George was waiting at the back door of the car, making a point of not looking in his employer’s direction. Mycroft was sure that he had seen the completely inappropriate abuse that his bum had just been subjected to, but he was giddy enough not to care.

George silently accepted his coffee and the wax envelope containing the brownie, making sure that Mycroft’s long legs were safely tucked away before closing the door behind him and sliding into the front seat. They drove on in silence with George sipping at his lukewarm drip and stealing glances every so often in the rearview mirror at his employer’s dazed expression, feeling a sense of extreme satisfaction at a job well done. Oh, just wait until he got Anthea alone for a bit of gossip...


End file.
